


Jump, Then Fall

by robi0688



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robi0688/pseuds/robi0688
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” Taylor says, and Jordan can’t bring himself to look up from the hard bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. “This is weird. Is this weird?”</p><p>Jordan thinks about that for a moment, then shrugs. “Hallsy, we’ve always been weird.”</p><p>For nordicwrites in Happy Hockeydays 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jump, Then Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Thank you to cindy for looking this over, you are the best. Dear nordicwrites: I hope you enjoy :)

Jordan’s not sure just when he’d met Taylor, he doesn’t remember that tournament when they were ten but he’d already known who Taylor was by the time they hit the World Juniors. Sometimes he thinks he’d like to have something concrete instead of the strange feeling that Taylor has always been there, because -- well, it gets awkward when Taylor starts telling some story and turns to Jordan, who doesn’t remember half the time. He can tell it hurts Taylor’s feelings, but he doesn’t know how to explain that he didn’t expect this thing between them until it was already there. Whatever it is.

He didn’t start out expecting to fall into bed with Taylor, either: like everything else in his life about the two of them, it just happens. Two or three beers over a game of Chell and Taylor’s eyes warm and curious from across the couch feel like a punch to the gut and Jordan has to sit on his hands to keep himself from doing something stupid.

“So,” Taylor says, and Jordan can’t bring himself to look up from the hard bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. “This is weird. Is this weird?”

Jordan thinks about that for a moment, then shrugs. “Hallsy, we’ve always been weird.”

“Point,” Taylor agrees, then pounces.

-

They make out lazily against Jordan’s side of the couch until his lips are buzzing with it, until his head is fuzzy and thick and Taylor’s hands cup his face; he can feel Taylor’s smile against his lips. Even though he’s half-hard, he doesn’t particularly feel the need to do anything about it -- Taylor’s straddling him but holding most of his own weight on his knees. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jordan can feel panic building: what the fuck is he _doing_ , but the rest of him just feels safe and ... content.

He lets his hand slip under the hem of Taylor’s shirt, sliding along his skin, and Taylor breaks away, takes a shuddering breath as his eyes close. He looks completely wrecked from that one touch, which sort of blows Jordan’s mind -- he did that. Out of curiosity, he moves his hand back down, tucks his fingertips into the waist of Taylor’s jeans and tugs experimentally; Taylor practically falls into him, just catching himself on the back of the couch.

“Jesus, Ebs,” he mutters, ducking his head. Jordan watches the line of his neck, and he smiles.

“They do call me the Messiah,” he says helpfully and Taylor cracks, head falling to Jordan’s shoulder while he laughs. “C’mon,” Jordan says, rubbing his back gently. “Up.”

They disentangle on their way upright, but Taylor takes his hand as they head to Jordan’s bedroom. “Are you sure?” he asks, and ignores Jordan’s indignant stare. “I just, you know. I want you to respect yourself in the morning.”

“Fuck you,” Jordan laughs, pushing Taylor through the bedroom door. “Keep this up, and I won’t respect _you_ in the morning." Taylor reels him in again, and he stops arguing.

-

Jordan isn’t sure what he expected from a morning after with Taylor, he never thought it would even get this far. He definitely didn’t expect to be woken up before the alarm with Taylor kissing his way down the V of Jordan’s stomach, intent on round two. (Un?)fortunately, it means that there’s no time for awkwardness if they’re going to make it to practice on time; he showers while Taylor tries to pat down his hair into something that doesn’t give away exactly what they’ve spent the last twelve hours doing, breakfast is a bagel eaten on the drive there.

He doesn’t have time to freak out until they’re home again and Taylor disappears for his pre-game nap, leaving Jordan in the kitchen staring at a glass of juice and wondering _what the fuck just happened to his life_. He sleeps with girls and he’s had close bros, he doesn’t know what to do when the two suddenly collide.

The thing about sleeping with Taylor is that Jordan has no one else to talk to about this sort of thing. He maybe tries a few times with Jonesey, stammering through a word or two before chickening out, and in a moment of desperate insanity he finds himself dialing Tubes’ number before he comes to his senses and hangs up.

They keep sleeping together. It’s still awesome. Jordan gets better at pretending he’s not flipping his shit.

The worst part is, adding sex to this thing with Taylor doesn’t really change much: they still hang out like bros most of the time, Taylor still makes him smile a little too widely, argue just to make him laugh, sits a little too close and stays there for hours. What _is_ new is Jordan’s sudden possessiveness, the way he sort of wants to push away anyone who gets too close to Taylor, which is fucking ridiculous since he has the personal bubble of a barnacle.

For fuck’s sake, Taylor makes him want to try and untangle how he feels about this whole shitshow despite not understanding a damn thing about it, which is just dangerous.

-

He tries to do something about it in St. Louis, when Whitney escapes to the hotel bar and Jordan follows him there; the guy volunteered for the You Can Play thing, he was a sociology major, he knows his shit, right?

“No,” he says as Jordan sits next to him, holding up a finger. “If you’re here without Twiddle-dum --”

“Hey, why am I Twiddle-dee?” Jordan asks, then shrinks from Ryan’s flat stare. “Right. Go on.”

“As I was saying, if you’re here without Twiddle-dum, you’re here to talk _about_ Twiddle-dum. Which I am not prepared to handle unless you buy me booze. A lot of booze.” Jordan shrugs and pulls out his wallet, and Whit nods appreciatively.

Three rounds later, Whit takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright, lay it on me.”

“So, Hallsy and I are kind of boning,” Jordan starts, and while Whit makes a face, he doesn’t look like he’s about to hate-crime Jordan, which he’ll take as a win. “And I don’t really know what to do about it.”

“You could exchange Lisa Frank necklaces,” Whit offers, and rolls his eyes at Jordan’s confused look. “Seriously, why do I hang out with nothing but children?”

“I think Hallsy might be in love with me,” Jordan tries again, and Whit just holds a hand up to his face.

“Okay, if you don’t stop right now, I’m calling homeland security. I’ll tell them you’re part of a terrorist sleeper cell.”

Jordan stares around Whit’s fingers. “That makes no sense, I’m Canadian.”

“You’re shifty motherfuckers. They’ll believe me.” Jordan makes a face and downs the rest of his drink; Whit does the same and seems to be visibly working himself up to something. Jordan orders another round and waits him out.

“Listen, buddy, I’m sure Twiddle-dumber --”

“I thought he was --”

“No, shut up, you’ve both been downgraded. I’m sure Twiddle-dumber would be happy to sit around and Taylor Swift this shit out with you--”

“Did you just use Taylor Swift as a verb?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Whit snaps and Jordan shuts up obediently. “Jesus Christ. No, not you,” he adds as Jordan opens his mouth again. “Do you really want to be talking to me about this?”

Jordan wrinkles his nose. “No, not really.”

“I don’t really want you to be talking to me about it either,” Whit says. “Now go away before you start again.” Jordan tosses enough money to cover the tab on the counter, and then he flees before he has the urge to start talking again.

When he gets to their room, Taylor’s already sleeping, so Jordan goes to drink from the tap and splash cold water on his face. He remembers the lack of surprise on Whit’s face, and he realises that him and Taylor have spent like, forty of the last forty-eight hours together, and he’s already thinking of waking Taylor up to talk. 

Jordan studies his reflection for a long time, and wonders if it’s hypothetically possible to drown himself in the sink.

-

After the next home game, the door’s barely shut behind them before Jordan shoves Taylor back against it, pulling him in for a kiss by his tie. It’s still weird, but he’s starting to get used to Taylor’s stupidly comfortable pillows that have migrated to his own bed and waking up with Taylor’s face shoved in his armpit and even though he still has no fucking clue what he’s doing, the way Taylor looks at him when he pulls on one of Taylor’s shirts by accident in the morning, the oddly content smile on his face makes Jordan realise that he doesn’t really care. He has everything he needs right here.


End file.
